Outside.
Just stay outside.
That is where the answer lies.
I promise.
Music will take to the skies as wings grow their feathers.
Hold me, my love.
I’ll show all that you give.
And you’ll find all that there is.
I feel a dream.
Everything just seems like a dream.
So far.
It’s in hand but too far to touch.
Hold me I said.
I’m on your side.
I see your sight.
And I feel your fight.
Is it madness?
You ask as you wonder the thoughts for others as your own.
But why?
Why are you afraid of something you know to pursue?
Pursue.
You’re not there.
I’m sorry to be the one who must say.
Far you must fly if you hope to understand all that is known.
Touch my pedals,
and watch them fall.
Soak them in,
all in all.
Where do you write from?
Is it the soul?
Or an endless hole?
Ha, I rhymed again.
Catch yourself drinking poison,
and you will never stop.
You just look away.
So that ignorance is to blame.
Do you fight?
No.
Your sword is never drawn.
Yet, it is always there.
Why?
That’s the question to ask.
Here’s the riddle.
Are you ready?
Because you are no more the knight than you are the devil.
You are no more the attacked then the attacker.
You are the scene that brought this moment to life.
Giving definition and therefore recognition.
You beautiful fucking writer you.
You laid out reality and called it so.
I envy your creativity.
Yet I can’t help but worship my own.
But no.
No,
No,
NO!
It is a show.
A dream,
that’s the word.
A fabrication of your imagination that you rarely question until after.
So, what can you do?
Another question to solve.
Well, debately, you must always write.
Because you are the writer (I wish you could see how exact that wording is)
Let’s do the best we can.
See ourselves for the writers we are.
Smile for it is love.
Smile for it is all.
And smile for that is the writer you’d prefer to be… so just do it.
“Complication is nothing but a fool’s justification to never look up from his pen.”
